Equilibrium
by Xx starlight-moon xX
Summary: Equilibrium : a state of rest or balance due to the equal action of opposing forces.' Oneshot I can't quite explain, though I suppose it's technically Belladolphus . . . of a sort.


**A / N : Oneshot! :)**

**I have writer's block at the moment, and wrote this mainly to write _something. _I'm not sure I can explain it . . . but I'll be interested in what people think of it. The key is in the title, but if it makes no sense to anyone outside my head, I won't be too surprised. It's not long at all though, so if you have any thoughts, there's a little coloured button I'm quite fond of. **

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_**Equilibrium : a state of rest or balance due to the equal action of opposing forces. **_

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The staircase twists, and in the very centre – right at the turn - there is a step a little broader than the rest. It seems ironic that she is here, of all places. At the heart of the house, the very centre of the staircase. This is a place of perfect equilibrium, of _balance, _and it seems odd that she has been drawn to it.

But she is here, drenched in darkness, knees drawn up to her chin. Her back is straight, pressed against the wall, and her eyes are dry. She looks like a child fleeing from an angry parent.

He almost walks into her, but catches himself at the last minute. Once he has lost his balance it seems pointless to stay standing any longer - so he reels back, and falls into a nervous crouch beside her.

She stares at him for a moment, unseeing . . . and then she looks away, gazing intently at the wall. All he can see is a shoulder, stiffly held, and a mass of untidy curls. His eyes follow the curve of her jaw, too tightly set to bode well for anyone.

"Bella," he murmurs.

It used to be all or nothing, _Bellatrix _or nothing. But now he slips up, the third syllable trailing behind the others like a dropped hem.

She doesn't mind. He doesn't think she minds.

He isn't sure he knows, any more.

Bella swallows, eyes still boring into the wall. There is a vein throbbing in her neck, a tiny twitch. He can almost hear her heart, skittish in her chest.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asks hoarsely.

Rodolphus frowns. "Think about what?"

Bella smiles, and turns to face him. Raising her wand, she presses the tip to his chest.

"Avada Kedavra," she whispers.

The words crackle in the gloom, and he shivers. He can't help it. Words are never just words.

_Avada Kedavra. The Dark Lord. Bellatrix. _

His mouth twists, and his fingers close involuntarily around her wand. Relief washes over him when her eyes flash and the wand twitches angrily in his hand. She is still Bella, then.

The vein throbs in her neck again, and he puts out a hand – a swift, sure movement, as though he is raising his wand for a duel. He touches her before he can change his mind, before he can remember. Something happened, something changed, and they both know it . . . But he can't care about it, can't think about it, not now. If he does, he will never do this, and it will be too late - it will always be too late.

Bella shivers, her expression hardening at his touch, but she doesn't push him away. She seems to be daring him to continue, as his fingers shake upon her throat, and it is that, more than anything, that does it.

"No," he says, in answer to her question. "I don't think about it."

Bella blinks. There is a moment of uncertainty, of sharp, stinging silence, and then she throws back her head . . . and laughs, the sound ringing in the empty space.

The echoes crash down around them like footsteps on the stairs, a hailstorm breaking above his head.

"I don't either," she says harshly, and she curls her fingers into his collar, pulling him closer.

When her laughter fades, an inch from his lips, he can almost feel the empty space behind it. The light drains from her eyes, and he can't stand it . . . so he does the only thing that makes sense. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her forward, so that she is pressed against him, warm and solid, knees digging into his hips. She flattens her hands against his chest, but she isn't pushing him away. Just . . . slowing him down. She seems to like it, to like his obedience. He leans in to kiss her throat, to try and calm her completely - but then she does push him away.

His back hits cold stone and Rodolphus scowls. Bella merely laughs. She traces his cheekbone, his eyelid, the curve of his jaw . . . and then her fingers sink into the sides of his neck, hard enough to draw blood, and she pulls him up and presses her lips to his.

Her mouth is hot against his and she skims his lower lip with her teeth . . . but she is holding on too tightly - a brittle, almost fevered grip - and Rodolphus' eyes are starting to water. He wants to calm her down, of course, but he'd bloody well like to breathe as well. He tries to loosen her grip and Bella pauses, bewildered. She allows him move her hands, apparently without thinking, and then he tries to continue, and she laughs again - a high, exhilarated sound.

"_No," _she says firmly, driving the heel of her hands into his chest and forcing him back, again. "No."

She curls her tongue around the word, and there is something odd about her laughter. It is all jagged edges, as if she has taken a knife to the sound.

"No," she whispers, a word as empty as the Avada Kedavra - and Rodolphus pulls her in, as though he is trying to sear her to his skin. At this angle, he can feel her heart beat against his own. Bella's heart is faster and more erratic, something hard buried deep – but before he can think about it too deeply, her lips sweep hot against his own and he tightens his hold, catching her in a kiss that is a mess of indecision. Rough-edged, desperate, soft . . .

He doesn't know.

He doesn't care.

He almost doesn't taste it . . . the blood upon her tongue.


End file.
